But now what Tongue can praise the mighty Worth,
  Who to Ridotto gave an English Birth;
  To him let every Templar bend the Knee,
  Receive a Ticket, and give up the Fee: 
  Let Drury-Lane eternal Columns raise,
  And every wanton Wife resound his Praise;
  Let Courtiers with implicit Faith obey,
  And to their grand Procurer Homage pay.

No more shall Duchesses to Bath repair, Or fly to Tunbridge to procure an Heir; Spring-Gardens can supply their every Want, For here whate’er they ask the Swain wil grant, And future Lords (if they’ll confess the right) Shall owe their Being to this blessed Night; Hence future Wickedness shall take its Rise, (For Masquerade to this is paultry Vice) An Aera of new Crimes shall hence begin, And H——­gg——­r chief Devil be of Sin; No more shall Ugliness be his Disgrace, His Head mends all the Frailties of his Face; When Masques and Balls to their Conclusion drew, To this his last Resort the Hero flew; So by degrees the Errant Knights of old To Glory rose, and by Degrees grew bold; A while content the common Road they trod, ’Till some great Act at last confess the God.

Now Painters work,—­and dine, that starv’d before, And Tallymen supply each needy Whore—­ Fam’d Covent-Garden droops with mournful Look, Nor can St. James’s her great Rival brook:  Each Duck and D——­ss, quacks to different Tunes, One claps her Wings for Love, the other swoons; Each Vintner storms and swears he is undone, Vollies of Oaths speak loud the Drawer’s Moan; Porter who us’d to search for needful Girls, Now sucks his Fingers, or his Apron twirls, Bemoans his Loss of Business, and with Sighs, In Box imprison’d lays the useless Dice.

Spring-Garden now alone does all invite The Cit, the Wit, the Rake, the Fool, the Knight:  No Lady, that can pawn her Coat or Gown, Will rest ’till she has laid the Money down:  Each Clerk will to the Joints his Fingers work, And Counsellors find out some modern Querk, To raise the Guinea, and to see the Grot, And ’mongst the Belles to slant it at Ridolt.

  Here Seamstresses and Maids together vie,
  And the spruce ’Prentice shines in Sword and Tye: 
  Bandy’d in Lace the City Dame appears,
  Her Hair genteelly frizzled round her Ears;
  Her Gown with Tyrian Dyes most richly stain’d,
  Glitt’ring with Orient Pearl from Orphans gain’d.

My Lord, to oblige his Spouse, takes Tickets three, Crys, one’s for you my Love, and one for me, The third dispose as you shall best adjudge, Shew where you’re pleas’d, and where you owe a Grudge:  Madam elate, thinks she’ll be kind to Betty, To hide the Slips she made with Spark i’th’ City:  But Stallion Tom, who well knew how to scold, And by his Mistress’s Favour